Facebook Slider

Pip Blom, The Caves, Edinburgh


Photographs: Cassandra Harrison

Oddly The Caves doesn't get a lot of gigs as far as I'm aware, outside of August when it's pressed into Fringe service. Then again my eye's not exactly on the ball so it could be hosting bands seven nights a week for all I know. 

Either way it's a good sized venue with great acoustics so ideal for tonight's show. Which starts promptly at 20:00 and those latecomers who managed to miss the first half of support act Personal Trainer should be kicking themselves. An energetic septet fronted by a man equal parts Anton Newcombe, Shaun Ryder & Ian Curtis they throw everything into their performance, having seemingly raided their old school's musical department for such items as a trombone, cowbell & a well used vibraslap. And they deploy a megaphone every so often too.

Their keyboardist/trombonist resembles Napoleon Dynamite and gets himself into all sorts of contorted positions with the microphone as a he hollers his head off on backing vocal duties. I've seen no unknown act this good since being introduced to Squid back in January at Rockaway Beach. Unfortunately they don't get the riot on the dancefloor which their sound and it's speedy delivery deserves but full marks to them for not being phased and fingers crossed that they can capture that intensity when they get an album out. £20 for two 7"s at the end of the night seemed a bit steep though.

Given the support act's efforts on this double Dutch bill I for one thought Pip Blom had their work cut out for them when they took to the stage at 9pm and yet they very nearly pulled it off with a 12 (possibly 14) song set shorn of any fat and battered out far faster than on the likes of recent album Boat. Drummer Gini beats the shit out of her kit, looking close to having a seizure at any moment, breakthrough song 'School' comes and goes early in the set with no favouritism and breaks to say thanks for coming along are the briefest of moments.

Most of Personal Trainer make it into the crowd for the closing few numbers of the set and, around the time of 'Daddy Issues' being played, the central part of the audience finally develops into the pit which all 11 of those who've appeared on stage & given it their all so rightly deserve as just reward for their efforts. There's no encore but that's entirely fitting for the punk spirit (oddly offset by the incongruous jazz from various eras which was on before, between & after the bands) which was channeled via the politeness of The Netherlands.

The bands have another six dates to play in the UK over the coming week and you really want to make sure you catch them at it.  


The Mystery Lights, Dingwalls, London


Last Thursday my chicken tits and I had three different gigs of interest: Mice Ön Mars, Froth and Mystery Lights. I'd almost decided on the second option (at Studio 9294) when 'Traces' by Mystery Lights shuffled through on Spotify, if you go and blast it on your headphones I think you'll find heading to Dingwalls was my only real choice, that and dancing to it live as illogically as possible.

I had some time between work and the gig so probably should've gone home to deal with a ridiculous pile of laundry I'd been crafting into a life-like version of myself. It was an experiment to see if anyone would notice when I swapped 'it' out for 'myself' at work if I'd still get a payslip at the end of the month. Science folks. After a real shit shift though all I wanted to do was chill somewhere dark and drink, drink, drink so I went straight to the venue. The security lady who checked my bag left my bag half open and I'd be unaware of this until I tried to reach for my wallet later but instead unleashed a tampon avalanche all over the floor.

The opening band of the night (Malady) sounded exactly like what I needed for my state of mind at that moment: pleasant melodies with contrasting strong vocals and some loud aggressive drumming. The singer and bassist's body language indicated they could have a 'more than just friends' thing going on but it didn't feel lame. In fact it was very adorable, they really looked like a modern version of Lafayette and Jeannie from Hair (1979). They all had a nice stage presence but an equally hideous taste in footwear, the shoes (which were ugly AF) I couldn't stop looking at.

Now I'm going to skip the second band completely and instead offer you a review of the very nice couch I escaped onto during their performance. Feel free to imagine whatever reason I had for this.

THE COUCH by the bar at Dingwalls


Chunky fake leather, a couch you'd find in any second hand furniture shop. Like the cat-bus in Totoro, it swallows you into its bouncy seats, but without the inconveniences that come with fur and being taken to the other side. It was unbelievably clean and non-sticky for the type of venue and people around, but it was also dark so hey, you know, let's just all be happy there weren't any UV lights in the vicinity. Overall though extremely comfy, almost fell asleep, would sit again.

Finally the time for The Mystery Lights descended upon us, my friend and I dragged our corpses from the amazing couch to the front of the stage, slightly to the right in order to avoid the dirty mosh that was about to take place (which got us anyway).

Half of the band were already on stage getting their equipment ready and seemingly wondering where the rest of them were. The singer brings out a bottle of tequila (half empty already) and carefully places some keys on a speaker, then just starts playing around with his guitar in order to rush whichever member of the band was still at the back taking a shit or doing a line. They start off like thunder, screaming guitars and loud-ass drums. People slowly started waking up from the previous performance and even my corpse friend was shaking his corpse head to the music. The singer (Mike Brandon), with his cute face and fluffy hair jumped around like a poodle on speed, leaving barely any space for the guitarist who seemed to have time-traveled from the '80s and straight out of highschool. A skinny long-haired Mac DeMarco is hitting the drums in the background with an empty expression on his moon shaped face, pretty much the same as the keyboard player. She did smile for half a second though, my friend managed to capture the moment in a photo but I was too slow.

Their performance was short yet full of energy and very engaging. They went through most of their recent record Too Much Tension!, including the very popular 'I'm So Tired (Of Living In The City)' and my absolute favorite 'Traces' (which I hope you're listening to right now).

By the time of the encore, the girls pushed by the mosh behind them had spilled their drinks on the pedals, which the sound guy kept trying to cover with towels. Guitar strings were broken and backpacks were drenched (including ours), everything was covered in either booze or sweat. It couldn't have been any other way. 

The Mystery Lights have got a whole bunch of live dates across UK and Europe so make sure you catch them in town before you regret it, I suggest you wear comfy shoes and show up ready to shake them bones and sweat. Hoping they return to London sometime soon.


Jarv Is, Leith Theatre, Edinburgh


For one reason or another (most likely cost) I failed to see Pulp live when they were on the go. Nor did I see Jarvis Cocker's collaboration with Chilly Gonzalez here in Edinburgh at the Festival a couple of years ago. His Jarv Is show, therefore, seemed the ideal chance to redress the balance, helped in no small part by knowing Leith Theatre would afford me the option of a seat.

Having read Luke Haines' Bad Vibes memoir at the start of the week Jarvis has been a regular feature of the days running up to this show, being mentioned in the book a number of times as he is (overall it's a good read too) so it's felt a bit like a refresher course in where he's come from to reach the point that Jarv Is occupies in his career.

Extinction Rebellion had been invited along to set up shop outside the venue and in the foyer and the need for action on global warming and reaction against the forces preventing meaningful change taking place was definitely the theme of the night.

Jarvis was on top form, the consummate entertainer, let down only at the point where he apologised for himself and his band being English, thereby indulging the myth that that's an issue for supporters of independence in Scotland (plenty of non-Scots are fans of the idea).  

Nowhere else in the city tonight would you have been regaled with quotes from Debussy, Dorothy Parker, John Lee Hooker and one or two other diverse sources in between the songs and on-stage gyrations. The near-capacity crowd lapped up every moment of it and joyfully sang & clapped along, particularly at the times when the disco ball was in use and in the choruses of current single 'Must I Evolve?'

90% of tonight's material was new but there was a Relaxed Muscle track included (a musical endeavour of Cocker's which until now had passed me by) and a Pulp track I didn't recognise & so can only assume it was pre-His & Her's.

The three song encore was over too soon for all concerned but we'd seen a band & frontman perform at their peak so no one would be leaving disappointed.

The support tonight came from Glasgow quintet Our Lady Of The Sea. Much like Jarvis's nationalism mis-step they referenced the fallacy that people in the East have an antipathy to those from Scotland's West mid-way through an introduction, a tiresome habit, long since become unamusing. Their online presence is seemingly non-existent so no link here unfortunately. Musically they were a bit pedestrian but with nonsense lyrics more suited to a far more psychedelic sound than they're currently pursuing.  


Sharon Van Etten, Leith Theatre, Edinburgh

Photos: Gaelle Beri (@gaelleberi)

En route to tonight's show, a production brought to us by the Edinburgh International Festival, I popped along to the Edinburgh Book Festival, pushing my way through the Edinburgh Fringe.  It is all happening in Edinburgh. After purchasing a trio of books (Lost Property by Laura Beatty for him, Heartland by Sarah Smarsh for me, a book of mermaid stickers for her) I took a slow bus across town to my favourite Edinburgh venue: Leith Theatre.

This time I was ushered in with kindness and not the usual ‘Uh, sorry, you’re not on the list, let me contact three other people to confirm you’re not a chancer.’  I was even given a direct email to the Press Photo officer. Amazing.

I arrived mid-set to hear opening act Heather Woods Broderick singing and playing keyboard. There was a little chat from Heather. She had wished she’d gone to art school here. (Dear reader, so did I, but I went somewhere else so it all worked out in the end). It also worked out in the end for Heather, quite clearly, as she has found different outlets for her creativity, right down to designing her band’s merchandise, which I admired after the show.

The group's set ended with Heather singing a heartfelt, room filling 'I Accept The Invitation.' It was actually quite moving. I’m sure we were all feeling glad that she had done.

Sharon Van Etten and crew kicked off their set with 'Jupiter 4', bathed in purple light with the added flare brought by a flashing red bulb. SVE was wearing a black and gold top with black jeans. She did a lot of air punching to the strong beats, like how you do when you’re really getting into a song. She did it with feeling. We all felt that. 

It was at this point that I realised the usual drafty and cold Leith Theatre had all of her radiators turned up to Blazing Inferno – it was actually boiling in there.  I’d also noticed a slight tarting up of the place as the walls were covered in long curtains. I love this venue for its shabby and at the same time majestic look.  Like a woman in her 80s wearing big jewellery – she looks like she’s having an interesting life. You can’t help but wonder about her story.

‘Come Back Kid’ was met with enthusiasm possibly due to its familiarity brought by radio play. The theatre was packed at this point, filled mostly with men in the middle age, long haired twenty somethings, women of my mother’s age. I love these acts that draw in a varied crowd.

I noticed a girl in the row in front of me, four people to the left, furiously taking notes on a tiny notepad. Ah. One of me. She looked much cooler than I and I had to assume that she did not buy a mermaid sticker book for herself before arriving to review the gig.

SVE begins, “You guys had a lot going on today and you still wanted to come here. Thanks!” She then went on to explain how it was their tour manager’s birthday and how they chanced upon Mimi’s Bakehouse to buy him a cake. 

She then introduced the next song as a song about her family. “It’s my least favourite song,” – we laugh – “but my mother loves it. It’s about my family but it’s also about an asshole.” We laugh some more. The band launches into 'Don’t Do It.'

O.R. (Other Reviewer) is now writing furiously in her little notepad. Oh shit. What is she catching that I missed. I try to stay focused.

Heather and SVE sing a glorious duet “All I Can.” Their voices fill the theatre and it is a wonderful sound. Heather is putting on another great performance.  Her stamina for performing two sets, back to back, is something to be admired.

After singing 'Hands' SVE thanks the standing crowd for standing. She said it was awkward singing that song to a sitting crowd. And then….and then…she explains how her life was changed when she heard this next song. The '80s and '90s in America were confusing. SVE is a Jersey girl, having lived a short stint in Tennessee before moving back to New Jersey. She then sings 'Sunshine on Leith' and I think the roof is going to pop off the venue, so big is the reaction from the audience. There is much singing along. You can be as cynical as you like, but if you were there, I think that you couldn’t help but me moved by the atmosphere in that room. 

“I wish I could play for you all night long, but we don’t have that many songs.”

After a few more numbers, SVE and crew close out the show with an encore to the sounds of enthusiastic cheering from the audience. It has been a while since I’ve seen a crowd so connected to the performer. Her quirky American humour throughout, her chat with the audience, her powerful voice, and the engaged performance created a fantastic event. Good show, SVE, good show.

As I left, I saw O.R. put away her tiny notebook full of observations. I had been hoping she’d brought a sticker book (unicorns or llamas would have sufficed), but I guess we can’t all be lucky enough to be packing mermaid stickers to a gig.


Joan As Policewoman - Liberty Hall Theatre, Dublin

It’s the first night of Joan As Policewoman’s Irish tour.  In the gentile surroundings of Dublin’s historic Liberty Hall various cups of tea are scattered about between a baby grand, a Fender Twin amp and a mysterious, vintage style preamp on the stage of the Public Sector Union’s headquarters.  Joan Wasser has been performing as Joan As Policewoman since 2004 and released seven albums.  Tonight we are promised an anthology of her solo work in a resolutely solo presentation. 

She takes the stage in shoulder pads and glitter to open with ‘To Be Lonely’ and ‘Wonderful’ at the piano.  In this environment, her every breath rings around the theatre.  After ‘Warning Bell’, there is an awkward silence as Wasser checks the tuning on her telecaster and stretches her fingers into guitar picking shape.  She sips her tea and plaintively croons an ululating sigh. 

She dedicates a song to Elliott Smith which seems to satisfy the hipsters in the audience.  You can actually feel their smugness bloom in the darkness.  Beside me a cross legged, barefoot man in shorts complains about the quality of the craft cider.  Between songs, the forced laughter of the arthouse greets every mumbled utterance from the stage.  

I’m starting to miss the band and feel a little restless in my chair when Wasser introduces the mysterious box.  It’s a Roland Rhythm Ranger (1973).  Between the Roland and her loop pedal the sound fills out and the gig picks up some momentum.  The fuller arrangement feels more satisfying but the whole show has started to feel like a joke that I’m not in on.  The identikit singer-songwriter arrangements are generic and, though the control she exerts over her voice is admirable, there is nothing to grab on to.  It ends up like listening to the audiobook adaptation of a teenage emo kids diary. 

Eventually every precious, self-conscious note begins to grate and I know I’ll have to leave before I start to hate her recorded works too.  She plays a cover of Damon Albarn’s ‘Out Of Time’ and Prince’s ‘Kiss’ but they are indistinguishable from the general melange.  We leave, unimpressed, but we appear to be in a minority as the reaction between songs suggests that there are a lot of satisfied customers here tonight.




Metz, 9294, London


From behind metal barriers and the hulking/towering mass of a security guard I'm watching the sound engineer from the 'safety' of backstage at 9294. He's grinding his face into the palms of his hands as his mind recoils in horror at the sights before him and thoughts he must have. I guess mainly whether the sound system will be giving out before or after being pushed to or beyond its very limits, and what if anything he'll be able to do to solve this worst case scenario before the crowd turns ugly. Below him a sweaty mass of undulating rockers flail and tear themselves apart like a demented human accordion as  'Mess Of Wires' blasts through the stacked speakers on either side of the stage, may the rest in peace(s). Hayden (Percussion) smashes on a garbage can lid that's been repurposed as a cymbal while Alex (Guitar/Vocals) and Chris (Bass) hammer out notes a-la-Scott Pilgrim.

Just minutes ago Alex was pacing back and forth psyching himself up backstage for his set, now he's belting out the gospel, "alright were not stopping let's fucking go!" he wails into the mic as song three of the power set, 'Get Off', picks up the tempo. The notes thrash out at us in a throttling and unrelenting cacophonous battering, "I see it coming true, I see it coming unglued" rings in my ears. Not only is it hot AF (everyone has been reduced to a mess of bodily fluids) in this windowless warehouse conversion but Metz have just come to the end of a string of shows throughout the UK. The crowd has come to yet another end of a work week. It's Friday we're all shattered but Metz and the audience alike have dug deep in some sort of weird suicide pact for one final showdown, we're all going out guns blazing. What we're experiencing can only be properly describe in biblical terms but as I've never read the bible I'm going to be doing some serious paraphrasing. Picture Metz as the final line drawn in the sand between us (humanity) and the barbarian hordes (everyone not in here but also in here at the same time), the battle waging is in front of us, in us, all around us and for our very SOOOOOOOULS. Wave after wave of sounds come crashing raining down deafening blows exorcising our demons (hearing) with each blast, salvation is ours at last. The fire and fighting spirit inside of Metz is giving the audience one helluva run for their money, it's a fight they don't plan on coming back from, it's all or none.

There's a lot of competition in the music business here in the UK and admittedly around the world. Bands tour, a lot, and sometimes when they get to you they're likely out of steam and running on fumes. Their cut-loose antics like crowd surfing come off more as a gimmick they've locked themselves into from past days of glory. I remember the first time I saw Crows at Birthdays years ago I was in fear for my very life. Most recently when I saw them play again at the O2 after a lengthy UK tour the show felt like an old man easing into a warm bath, harmless. A queue had formed by the stage where old and young alike took turns clambering up and 'stage diving' if you could even call it that. It looked more like kids waiting to use the slide on a playground. Metz have been around since 2008 and live were like Balboa in Rocky, unpredictable south paws with their gloves full of rocks each blow just as dangerous as the last.

People might say they've seen a show like Metz, "they're just Canada's answer to the Oh Sees" but they're wrong I've seen both live. Don't get me wrong, I'm an O.S.'s fan and they bring it for sure but their shows are always huge and sold out. Arriving early I've never been able to get much closer than halfway to the stage; they've also got 2 drummers. You can go see Metz and feel like you're in a giant human accordion when they play as the crowd lurches forwards and backwards with a way bigger sound. At any moment you can feel the tension in the air that someone will flip a switch and the mass will turn into a cannibalistic orgy and gosh darnit you just can't put a price on that! The feeling at their show is electric, both you and the band are in a euphoric state of indestructability. The gang comes back to the stage for an encore and belch out 'Acetate':

"She's barely breathing/I'm wading through puddles on the floor/We're all moving backwards/Even dead men float"

Yup, that just about sums it up. I give Alex a hug after the show and instantly regret it as I peel myself off a layer of mucus clinging to his entire body. "Gross, but that's what I'm talking about" I say, he clocks my accent, "thanks man" he smiles, "much appreciated". Feeling's mutual my dudes. 

Subscribe to this RSS feed